


A Featherbed Fit For Me

by ASwornStark



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon Fix-It, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 11:33:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18893785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASwornStark/pseuds/ASwornStark
Summary: Turning her head, she found him looking down at her curiously. She sat up on her elbows. “Are you allowed to just walk into a lady’s room like this?”“You’re no lady.”





	A Featherbed Fit For Me

**Author's Note:**

> Iz here!  
> This is so quick I barely know what it is. Nothing much happens but I am a mess.  
> (not betaed because it is very late)

He’d done everything he could to make her comfortable. It was something Arya wasn’t used to anymore. She’d spent so much time in a rocking boat, barely sleeping among her crew, that a featherbed beneath her was almost too much to bear. But bear it, she did. After crawling onto the soft mattress, night had fallen around her, fallen away, and returned once more before she opened her eyes. She was both thirsty and starving and was attended to by a kind old maid who lit a candle on a small dressing table at her request. As the woman left the room to bring Arya food, she offered a sweet, doting smile that made Arya miss her mother so much it ached.

As she waited, she curled up on her side and yawned. She had never even realized she was tired. Now that she did, she wondered if the maid would leave her some bread and let her sleep if she found Arya with closed eyes. She was about to test this notion until she realized the sigh that came after the door creaked open again was not from the woman.

Turning her head, she found him looking down at her curiously. She sat up on her elbows. “Are you allowed to just walk into a lady’s room like this?”

“You’re no lady.” The amusement in his voice made her heart squeeze.

She couldn't resist the opportunity to drink him in. His eyes were beautifully blue, just how she remembered. His dark hair was longer, falling into his eyes, but not nearly as long as Jon’s had been. This suited Gendry wonderfully, though she loathed to admit it. When he smiled, she couldn’t stop a shiver from running through her as it directed her attention to the short beard he was growing. And to top it all off, Gendry looked just as strong and dependable as ever. She’d wondered if he might have spent all his time in a Lord’s chair doing Lord’s work, but it was clear that he was still working in the forge. His broad shoulders and thick arms were proof.

“I’ve missed you,” she blurted out, taking herself by surprise.

He seemed to feel the same because there was a pronounced pause before Gendry nodded. He took a step closer, letting the door sit ajar. “It’s been a long time.”

“Almost three years.”

He moved even further into the room. Seeming to find his courage, he took the wooden chair from near the fire and set himself down in it slowly. “It feels longer.”

“It does.” The whisper was still loud in the room. “So, does Storm’s End have an heir yet?” It wasn’t subtle, but it would do. She thought she would have the patience to root out the information stealthily, but suddenly everything she’d planned had fallen straight out of her mind.

A softness came across his features. “No. Should it have one?”

She couldn’t keep looking at him then. Swallowing hard, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and walked towards the small window looking out over a grey sky and dark waters.

By the time Arya was halfway home, she believed fully in the idea of Gendry being married. She could imagine it. The girl would be tall and slim with silky gold hair, and Gendry would stand only a few inches above her, smiling down at her like she was made of dreams. The image made her heart ache. It made her want to scream and cry and bang her fists on something. Instead, she took a deep breath, and continued on her path. The image of a child in Gendry’s arms made her even more sickened. She wanted that for him— _she did—_ but when she saw that child with Gendry’s eyes and nose and a stranger’s mouth…

“It doesn’t matter to me, either way.”

Behind her, the room was silent. She pressed her fingers to the window pane and waited for him to speak. She wondered what was taking so long for his reply when she felt him.

He was close behind her, so close that she could feel the heat radiating through his shirt. When she looked up at him, he stepped even closer.

“Yes, it does.”

The words reminded her of an older conversation of theirs. His knowing tone was one she had adopted, just before she’d slain the night itself. Remembering the warmth of that evening, Arya found herself drifting into him. She longed to feel that sense of safety again.

When Gendry’s mouth connected with hers, his head ducked down low to reach her, she let it happen with only a quiet intake of breath. And she was home.


End file.
